


Four-Squared, Fractured

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-04
Updated: 2005-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four drabbles, four moments in a relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four-Squared, Fractured

**Monday Morning.**

~1979~

He wakes to the soft whisper of warm breath across his collarbone, a nose snuffling lovingly against his throat. "P'foot," he murmurs, smiling sleepily. "Leave m'be."

But Sirius doesn't – Sirius never does. Instead he nuzzles into the sleep-dark curve of Remus' neck, confiding kisses to the secret places beneath his jaw, stubble rasping against stubble. He smiles against the bobbing protest of Remus' adam's apple, nudges gentle sighs to spill from drowsy lips as he nibbles at an earlobe and murmurs _Moony_. Remus stretches – arms, chest, arch-of-belly – and tangles their legs, whispering appreciation through the haze of lingering slumber, leaning into Sirius' heat and tangling his fingers in dark, rumpled hair.

When they kiss it's clumsy – laughter tumbling into mouths and breath that snags while fingers glide. But oh it's Monday-grey turned evening-gold when tongues touch and dance and slip and _there_ , he's waking, cherished, blinking, and such a week's beginning, this.

 **Sirius/Remus: Many many times in dreams / we were secretly kissing each other / I was swallowed by your clear round eyes / Deep in my mind I was highly aroused / Even I myself know this time it's serious**

~1981~

He manages to hold onto the dreams for exactly nine days.

They leach away the moment the door of the cell slams behind him, the very second his elbow hits damp, cold stone. Even in his exhaustion – hysteria that's burned itself to grit and ashes – he understands that sleep will be different here. He surrenders to the yawning darkness that tugs at his bones, without hope that he'll find comfort in its embrace.

There is no comfort in remembering.

For nine days he sees Remus' smile, watches his eyes grow bright with fury and laughter. There are nine days to remember that they loved-touched- _lived_. And then –

The tenth.

Gone – nothing bright can flourish here – and the kisses that lived in the warm places of his heart slip through his fingers like so much smoke. He's left to claw his survival from unyielding rock, from the certainties that echo in the hollow spaces left behind.

Where once there lived kisses, a roll call sounds of the dead. His dreams are numbered among the fallen.

 **Older.**

~1995~

He kisses the inside of Remus' elbow, where gossamer skin smoothes over a spider web of tiny veins. There's sweat gathered in the crease-bend-lift of this lax, heavy arm and he licks away the taste of it with the tip of his tongue. Remus watches, barely awake, blinking slowly behind the waterfall tumble of sleep-messed hair. He shivers slightly as Sirius blows _morning s'morning_ over his skin and smiles a brand of reckless enchantment. Remus' fingers twitch, fingertip to open palm, and flutter to a curving rest.

They're older now, and their hipbones jut and their skin is torn and mended in unpredictable places. They're held together by magic and ink, determination knit into their being, and nothing tastes of dirt-smoke-boy anymore, although their limbs remember how and where to fall. It's loss-yes-now that lingers in the hollow of their collarbones and dust-hurt-thankfulness that glides beneath their hands. It's scars that neither could prevent and food that never made it to their table and yet – it's hope in some clumsy, adult fashion.

As pulses slow they spill their limbs and twine about each other closely. Remus' fingers stretch and write a fractured tale of _missed you, home now, beauty, stay close_ over the planes of Sirius' back.

 **Sirius/Remus: Cause love don't need a reason / Love don't always rhyme / And love is all we have for now / What we don't have is time**

~1996~

A gasp. "Not here." Curling tongues and warm, gentle hands.

" _Yes_ , here." A mad touch of laughter. Nip. Bite.

Countertop hard against a spine. "People . . . _oh_ . . . . will see, will catch us . . ."

Fingers tangled in hair. "Like they don't already know?" Teeth against throat. "Hate this kitchen. Hate this house."

" _Sirius_ . . ." Soft lips – warmth, dirt, sinking, dust, hope, belong.

Skating hands. "What?" Trembling body. Morning bacon, a somewhere-scent. Burned toast, spilled milk, coffee, tea.

Shift of thighs, cup – SMASH. Difficult. (Hard, hard, hard.) " _God_ . . . "

Desperate breaths. " -- Moony."

A face in the fire.

( ~ Too-late the warning, and all time gone.)


End file.
